Right now I’m carrying Kelly through my front door, and my chest feels like it’s packed with dynamite.
Because ten minutes ago I was staring down the man who hurt her.
The man who stole from her.Lied to her.Humiliated her.
The man who abandoned her and Evan like they were disposable.
And before I could even finish processing the rage crawling up my spine, she grabbed my head and kissed me in the middle of that damn Lunchroom.
Not shy.
Not hesitant.
She kissed me like she was choosing me.
Like she was claiming me in front of every man who ever wondered if they had a shot with her.
Fuck.
Hell.
I never felt so many damn warring emotions, and frankly, I don’t know what to do with them.
Part of me still wants to hunt Mike Stevens down.
I want to drag him out of whatever hole he crawled back into and remind him exactly why he should stay the hell away from Woodhaven.Make it real clear that the life he tried to wreck belongs to someone else now.
But another part of me—one I usually keep locked up tight—is roaring louder.
It’s primal.Possessive.Downright fucking barbaric.
It’s the kind of instinct that doesn’t care about logic or manners or timing.
It wants one thing.
Kelly.
It wants her in my arms, in my bed, under me.Wants to erase every shadow that bastard left on her.Wants to make damn sure she knows exactly who stands between her and the world now.
So when she whispers, “Take me home,” I do.
I don’t remember the drive.
I remember her hand on my arm.
Her breath coming in a little shaky beside me.
The silence between us buzzing with something thick and electric.
By the time we pull into the driveway, my pulse is hammering like I’ve been in a fight, and my dick is so hard I bet these pants are going to be permanently tented.
The mountain air is crisp when I open her door, sunlight pouring across the deck and the tall pines that ring the house.
None of it registers.
Because the only thing I see isher.
I scoop her up without asking.
